


We Added It Up

by dullcevita



Series: The SVU / Hannibal Crossover [1]
Category: Hannibal (TV), Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Case Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-31
Updated: 2016-01-31
Packaged: 2018-05-17 07:33:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5859862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dullcevita/pseuds/dullcevita
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The FBI lend Will Graham to Manhattan SVU to help them solve a strange case, and Frederick Chilton tags along. While there, Sonny Carisi becomes convinced that there’s a resemblance between Dr. Chilton and a certain A.D.A.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Added It Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This whole fic was inspired by writing with a super talented member of the RP community, which then inspired me to make [this edit](http://withgall.tumblr.com/post/133982704505/au-in-which-the-fbi-lend-will-frederick-to-svu). This fic is set basically over _Yakimono_ in the Hannibal verse, and roughly between _Community Policing_ and _Maternal Instincts_ in the SVU verse, so no Nick or Dodds.
> 
> There are mentions of murders, rapes, eating disorders & cancer in this chapter. If you're particularly sensitive to any of those topics, proceed with caution.

Will didn’t like New York. He’d only been a few times, and the city had always struck him as too busy, too crowded, and generally just too much. As he paid the cab driver and stepped out, carefully ignoring Frederick’s voice behind him, he looked around and took in the street outside of the 16th precinct station. At the very least it was a little bit quieter here. 

He closed his eyes for a quick moment, a blink longer than a blink, and then he was opening his eyes and finding that Frederick was still talking to him. He glanced over at the other man, who was flicking invisible dirt from his camel coat and leaning on his cane heavily with one hand, all while still rambling on about — what was he even saying?

“— and you know, I’m really only here as a favour to Jack, so I’m not being paid for by the FBI and I thought I may as well take advantage of my time in the city, so — ” Will held up a hand, shaking his head.

“What?” He asked, and Frederick narrowed his eyes, as if that should be obvious.

“I was saying that if you need to contact me, I’ll be staying at the Plaza.” Frederick replied tersely, then sighed and leaned back, something in his hip cracking loudly. He grumbled something about hating planes and Detroit stop-overs, but Will had already gone back to ignoring him as they walked up the steps to enter the station. They were greeted by a Detective Rollins, who showed Will towards Benson’s office while Frederick was left to exchange a strange set of glances with the rest of the people in the station. 

“Will Graham,” Benson greeted, extending a hand to him. He shook somewhat reluctantly, a fact she took note of. “good to have you on the team. I spoke to your supervisor, Jack Crawford?” 

Will pulled a face.

“He’s not exactly my ‘supervisor’, but that’s not _too_ far from the truth.” He replied, then, taking in her expression, sat in the chair in front of her desk, and went on with: “He explained my methods, I’m assuming.” 

She nodded, taking her own seat. 

“He said you’re able to profile killers like no one he’s ever met.” She said. “Which is reassuring, because we haven’t been able to figure out much from the case details alone. Hence, the experts.” Benson waved a hand towards him, and he shifted in his chair, then looked around as if he’d just noticed that Frederick hadn’t followed him into the room. 

“Are you speaking to me and Dr. Chilton separately?” He asked, suddenly suspicious. She smiled at him, holding her hands up towards him. 

“It’s nothing like that, Mr. Graham. We’d just heard that there was some tension between the two of you.” Will scoffed, and Benson raised an eyebrow. “Is there?” 

“We haven’t always seen eye to eye.” Will replied, which was again, a massive understatement. When Benson stared him down, clearly unwilling to deal in half-truths, he shifted in his chair and went on. “He runs the hospital at which I was briefly a patient.” She let out a low ‘ah’.

“Jack did mention that. But, do you think you’ll be able to work with him?” 

Will broke his own rule, looking up and meeting her eyes directly. Her gaze was calm, but strong, as though she might be able to stare him down indefinitely. Judging by her collected disposition, he sensed she actually might be able to do just that. 

“I think so.” He replied honestly. “I’ve worked under far worse circumstances, and with far worse people.” She nodded.

“Good. And, just before I bring him in, what do you think of Dr. Chilton?” 

Will considered, picked his words precisely. 

“He’s smarter than he lets himself be.” 

“You mean he tries to play it down?” She asked, and he found himself scoffing again.

“Just the opposite. He has a tendency to _blunder_ forwards to be the first to speak, without thinking his answer all the way through, like the teacher’s pet waving their hand in the front row of the classroom. He’s… _overeager_.” Will finished, and she gave a small smile.

“We’ve got one of those ourselves.” She said, and then stood, motioning for him to do the same. “Give me a few minutes to talk to the doctor and then I’ll properly introduce you to the team.” Will gave a quick, jerky nod, and pulled open her office door. As she called Chilton over and into her office, the Detective they’d first met, Rollins, caught his eye and showed him to the vending machine when he asked if there was anything to drink.

When they returned, Benson’s door was just opening and she and Chilton were leaving, him still leaning heavily on his cane. Will considered the metal briefly, looking between it and Chilton’s face. It was odd to think that for all the bluster and flair the man liked to command around him, his pain was something he put a show on to hide. They’d taken the plane together, and Will had seen the brief wince as Frederick stood for the first time once they’d landed, followed by another as he stretched to reach his bags from the overhead. 

He might not like Chilton, and he might have wanted to inflict pain on him, multiple times, but that was different than seeing it expressed quietly, in private moments. It made the other man seem more human than Will would like, changed him from a simple cog in a much greater system of doctors and abusers into a human fumbling his way through this world. Their conversation on the day of Will’s release had reaffirmed the fact that he could no longer see Chilton as a faceless force. Now, working side by side, he felt they’d probably grow closer. 

But Benson was talking, going through the who’s who, and as he looked over at her he knew he’d been caught out. He straightened his back slightly, took a sip from his bottle of water and nodded very slightly. She blinked at him, then resumed her speech.

“As I was saying, both Mr. Graham and Dr. Chilton are going to be staying in New York for as long as the FBI and Baltimore can spare them, which, hopefully, will at least be long enough to help us catch this guy.” She said. “I’ve met both of them now, and I think they’ve both at least been introduced to you, but I think proper introductions are in order. Who’s first?” 

Rollins raised a hand half-way, a soft smile on her lips. 

“I’ve met both of you, but, again, I’m Detective Amanda Rollins.” 

And so they went around the circle, like they were at a high-school drama camp. At the very least the circle was completely void of ice-breakers, and apparently, a whole person.

“Detective Dominick Carisi is out today for a family matter, but he should be back tomorrow.” Benson said after they’d finished. “You’re also likely to meet ADA Rafael Barba, as he’s taken an interest in this case and has been chasing after us to bring in a solid lead. Don’t be taken aback if he’s brusque with you, that’s just how he is.” Rollins and Fin exchanged a look. “Alright, I think that’s it for now. We’ve got your phone numbers, the numbers of the hotels you’re at, and we’ll be in touch if anything new comes in. In the meantime, you’re free to leave and get a good night’s sleep.”

The circle broke apart and Will left as quickly as was possible, walking a half-block before he saw an empty taxi and hailed it, giving the driver his hotel’s address. 

·

Frederick loved New York. Certainly, Baltimore was his home, and he appreciated everything it had to offer, but he loved New York. He only wished he was able to visit under better circumstances. He wasn’t as useful as Will, at least, not right away. He’d been told he might be called as an expert witness, if this went to trial, and with that in mind he’d taken the address Benson had given him and had a taxi drive him to ADA Rafael Barba’s office. 

The ADA was out of town, he was told, and he turned back around and left the building. Well, that was his own fault for dropping by unannounced. He was heading down the street, following Siri’s directions towards a café for his second coffee of the day, when he heard someone yelling something at him. He paused and turned, in time to see a giraffe of a man running towards him, yelling ‘counsellor’. He narrowed his eyes, but waited for the man to catch up.

“I thought you were gonna be out of town for a few days — what’s up with the cane?” The man asked, two rapid-fire sentences shot at him so quickly that it took Frederick a moment to disentangle them and come to a conclusion.

“I think you’ve gotten me confused for someone else.” He replied. “Sorry.” He was about to turn when the man reached out and grabbed hold of his shoulder, then pulled his hand back instantly as if he’d made a terrible mistake. Frederick gave him a withering stare and readjusted his lapels.

“I didn’t mean to grab you, but what gives?” The man asked. “I know we don’t always get along, but pretending you don’t know me is a bit grade-school.” Frederick’s eyes narrowed even more, but he tucked his phone back into his pocket (the coffee would have to wait, at least a few moments) and gave the stranger a once-over. He didn’t seem unstable, just genuinely misinformed. 

“I promise we’ve never met.” He said coldly, and the man’s expression shifted to something between anger and confusion. Frederick got the feeling that the latter wasn’t uncommon for him.

“Come on, counsellor, this is gettin’ ridiculous.” The other man said.

“I’m a _psychiatrist_ , not a counsellor.” Frederick corrected, almost automatically. The man’s face scrunched up, confusion winning over anger. Taking pity on him momentarily, Frederick dug his wallet out of his coat’s inner pocket and pulled his driver’s license out, holding it up in front of the other man. “Not who you assumed I was, correct?” The man shook his head, and reached out for the license, which Frederick let him take. He turned it over in his hand, then took stock of the name on the front for the first time.

“Wait a sec, Frederick Chilton?” He asked, looking between the photograph on the license and the Frederick himself. “Dr. Frederick Chilton?” 

“Yes?” Frederick said, his tone cautious. The man handed back the license and then held out a hand, his expression still rather dumbfounded.

“I’m Detective Dominick Carisi Jr., of SVU. We’re gonna be working together.” He said, and proceeded to pull out his badge. Frederick nearly rolled his eyes, because of course, _of course_ this was his luck. He tucked his license back into his wallet.

“Well, Detective Carisi, now that we’ve got that all sorted out, I’m going to leave.” Frederick said, and was only a few steps away when he realized that Carisi was now walking with him. 

“Where’re you headed?” He asked, his stride easily covering two of Frederick’s steps. Frederick still tried to walk more quickly. 

“Coffee.” Frederick grumbled, pulling his phone back out and about to ask Siri again where to find the café. Carisi’s face brightened.

“ _Huh_.” Carisi let out, and then, off of the absolutely baleful glare he received, quickened his pace and changed his tone. “There’s a great bakery just three blocks that way, my aunt knows this guy, and he’s the father of the woman who runs it. Really great place, proper French pastries, delicious coffee. You’d like it.” 

“You’ve known me for exactly,” Frederick checked his watch as he continued to try, unsuccessfully, to outpace Carisi. “Nine minutes. You’ve no idea what I like or dislike.” Carisi laughed.

“Fair enough.” He replied. “Well, then, it’s good. That enough of a recommendation?” 

Frederick found himself hunching his shoulders, then he sighed, shoved his phone back into his pocket, and spat out: “Fine.” Carisi smiled again, easily taking the lead and turning a corner.

“You won’t regret it.” He promised, and Frederick made a low, scoffing noise.

“I highly doubt that.” Frederick replied, and Carisi’s expression went funny, as if remembering something. “What?” The other man shook his head, slowing his pace so Frederick didn’t have to work quite so hard to keep up.

“Nothing. I’m just looking forwards to you meeting everyone we work with.” He said, and Frederick didn’t bother to ask what he meant by that. At this point, he honestly couldn’t care. The trouble with this was the Carisi didn’t seem to understand that, and went on to describe the team, in great detail. The walk to the café felt like an hour instead of just over three minutes, and as they entered and ordered, he just kept going. It wasn’t until they sat at a table, at Carisi’s insistence, that he fell quiet again, apparently thinking very hard about something. 

Frederick sipped at his coffee, which to his great disappointment was actually wonderful, looking out the window. He’d almost forgotten himself in the sounds and smells of the bakery when Carisi spoke up again.

“Do you have a brother?” He asked.

“Only child.” Frederick replied. “Middle child?” He asked, nodding at Carisi. 

“Yep.” The other man answered, though he seemed perplexed. There was another pause. “Where are you from?” 

“Baltimore — didn’t you read my driver’s licence?” He asked. Carisi nodded, then leaned forwards.

“Yeah, but where are you… _from_?” 

Frederick leaned back in his seat, his eyebrows low. 

“My mother’s from Cuba, if that’s what you’re getting it.” Frederick said. 

“Cuba?” Carisi asked, as if confirming. Frederick’s frown deepened. 

“Is that a problem?” He challenged, and Carisi sat back up, his expression changing instantly.

“No, no, Christ, I didn’t mean it like — I was just, comparing, thinking out loud.” 

“My father’s also an immigrant, though he’s from England so I suppose you’d refer to him as an _ex-pat_.” Frederick said, and Carisi shook his head.

“I honestly didn’t mean to come across as — to be racist. I was just curious. I know someone who looks a lot like you, and he’s Cuban, and — ” Frederick’s expression remained the same. “ — yeah, okay, foot in my mouth, I get it.” Carisi pulled his phone from his pocket, and scrolled through photographs until he found the one he was looking at. He zoomed in on one figure, and turned the phone towards Frederick.

“That’s Rafael Barba, one of the ADAs we work with, at this year’s Christmas party.” The man in question was gazing out of the photograph with a frown that was desperately hiding a grin, as someone behind him was holding up an antler headband with lights on. Frederick looked down at the photograph, then sighed and fished into an inner coat pocket for his reading glasses. As he put them on and looked back down at the photograph he caught a quick flicker of something like amusement on Carisi’s face, but elected to ignore it.

Rafael Barba, the very man he’d been intending to meet that morning, had similar bone structure to Frederick. A similar nose, similar chin, similar cheeks. He looked slightly taller, judging by him in comparison to a slightly flushed Amanda Rollins in the photograph, and slightly heavier, judging by the way his shirt-fabric settled. Frederick pulled his glasses off, pushing the phone back over towards Carisi.

“Well, I must say that there is a good deal of similarity.” Frederick replied, and Carisi grinned. 

“I’ll take that.” He said, and tucked his phone away. “I mean, now that we’re sittin’ here, I can see that there are _some_ differences, but you’re damn near identical, far as I can tell. Like the Olsen twins.” 

“They’re sororal.” Frederick correctly, and Carisi made a ‘ _eh_ ’ noise, a lay-man’s ‘ _semantics_ ’. Smirking, he went on. “Not ‘ _eh_ ’, Carisi, it’s an entirely different kind of twin. One comes from one egg that is fertilized, then split into two, one comes from two eggs that are fertilized at the same time.” He was about to go on about mirror twins when Carisi interjected.

“Sonny.” 

“I’m sorry?” 

“Call me Sonny.” Frederick pretending to consider.

“I don’t think so.” He said, then looked down at his phone and let out a completely un-subtle: “Oh, thank god.” He answered his phone and took his coffee, leaving Sonny behind at the table. Frederick paced a tight circle outside the café window.

“Is there something new on the case?” He asked.

“No, no,” Benson replied. “I wanted to ask a favour, actually. Will got a call from Jack, something else in-state to look into, and I was wondering if you’d be able to make a house call for me. Detective Carisi, who I mentioned earlier, was off yesterday, and I haven’t heard from him. Could you check in with him?” Frederick had to bite back a slightly hysterical burst of laughter, and he looked back in the bakery window to see Sonny talking animatedly with a young mother a table over from him.

“I’ve actually already run into him.” He said. “He chased me down thinking I was your friend, ADA Barba.” Benson laughed.

“That sounds like him. Well, there’s nothing that needs his attention immediately, so maybe you can get him to show you the city.” Frederick said he would, and they exchanged quick goodbyes. He had the distinct feeling they were mutually babysitting each other, and he re-entered the bakery to hear the conversation with the mother still going on.

“Yeah, I’m all nervous about holding her.” Sonny said. “Like, there’s a whole bunch of breakable stuff in a baby. I read somewhere that you’ve gotta hold their necks carefully.” The mother nodded.

“The fact that you’re thinking about that sort of stuff makes me think that you’ll do just fine.” She said kindly. “My own brother hardly did any research. Your sister’s lucky to have you.” Sonny grinned, and Frederick took note of his dimples as he slid back into his chair. Sonny seemed surprised, and Frederick gave him a long look.

“You didn’t think I was going to leave, did you?” Frederick asked, and as Sonny fumbled through the single syllable of ‘ _ya_ ’, he went on with: “I left my wallet and my cane inside, Carisi. What can you ‘ _detect_ ’ from that?” 

“So you’re stickin’ around for a bit?” Sonny asked, and Frederick sighed. 

“Well, the coffee here isn’t _terrible_.” He said, and though Sonny obviously heard the compliment under the stubbornness, he didn’t call Frederick on it. Instead, he leaned back in his own chair and took a sip of his own coffee, and for once, let them fall into a semi-silence.

·

Will began to work with SVU to build a profile of their rapist and killer, and on his tenth day of working with them, ADA Rafael Barba arrived. He looked around the bullpen, noticed Will, overlooked him, and then looked back.

“I don’t think you should be going through those files.” He said, and Will set the aforementioned files down to bend and rummage through his bag. He pulled out his identification. 

“I’m Will Graham, on lend from the FBI.” Will replied, and Rafael moved in to look it over. He let out a low ‘ _hmm_ ’, then looked back up at Will and extended a hand to him. Will shook it. “Rafael Barba, from the District Attorney’s office.” He introduced. “Is Olivia Benson here?” Will tried to think if he’d seen her, then simply shook his head.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t notice — I can get a bit absorbed when I’m working.” Will said, and Rafael nodded.

“Well, good to meet you, but I’m going to see if I can’t find her.” He said, and gave Will a quick smile that was wasted, as Will turned his attention back to the files he’d previously set down before he could really take note of it.

Rafael found Olivia in her office.

“ _That’s_ Will Graham?” He asked, and she gave him a small, weary smile.

“Barba, nice to see you as well.” She stood from her desk, moving around it to perch at the edge. “How was Aspen?” 

“Cold.” He replied, then gave her a look. She sighed.

“ _Yes_ , that’s Will Graham.” 

“I thought he was a suspect stealing files.” He replied, and she let out a huff of air.

“He could do with a shave,” She began, and he cut her off.

“And a decent night’s sleep — does he have a hotel?”

“If you’re really asking if he sleeps here, the answer is no.” She said, then sighed. “Fin checked — he thought the same thing.” Barba smirked, and she had to resist rolling her eyes.

“I know you didn’t just come by to stare at Will.” She said, and though Barba noted her use of his first name, he decided not to bring it up, and instead gave a ‘sort-of’ motion with one hand.

“You’re not actually that far off — I came here looking to see if I could meet our imported ‘ _experts_ ’, but I was also looking for Carisi.” Benson’s eyebrows shot up, and Barba held a hand up. “Shocking, I know.” He searched through his coat pockets until he found his Blackberry. “He’s texted me _seventeen_ times, asking about when I’m getting back and if I’ll meet with ‘Frederick’, who I’m _assuming_ is Dr. Frederick Chilton.” She shook her head in amazement. 

“He’s been talking to Dr. Chilton since he arrived,” she said, trailing off.

“And he’s has latched on to someone else in my absence.” He concluded. Benson didn’t reply, but her chin rose a slight amount, and that was enough for him. “Well, perhaps that brings a hasty end to Carisi interjecting legal advice at every turn — though heaven forbid Dr. Chilton actually talk to him, or else he might start thinking he’s a trained psychiatrist as _well_.” Benson opened her mouth as if to protest, but then sighed, giving him a small smile.

“He _has_ shown an increased interest in psychiatry.” She admitted.

“Modern medicine may never recover.” He deadpanned, and then, after a quick goodnight, stepped back out into the bullpen to approach Will, who was in practically the same position Barba had left him in.

“So, Mr. Graham, I’ve been told that you might actually be able to build a solid profile of this rapist.” He announced as he strode over to the other man. Will looked up from the crime scene photos and blinked at him, as if emerging from a fog. 

“He’s not a rapist.” Will said, setting the file down save for one picture, which he walked over to the whiteboard and taped beside the photographs of the victims. Barba’s eyes narrowed, following Will’s movements.

“He stalks women, he targets them, and then he ties them up, drugs them, and engages in unwanted sex with them — which part of _that_ excludes him from the definition of _rapist_?” Barba asked, moving to stand almost beside Will, gesturing at the images taped beside the one Will had just added. 

Will pointed to the image he’d just taped up — the latest victim, her body arranged as it had been when CSU had arrived on-site: the blue fabric, draped over her so carefully, the discarded flowers surrounding her, her long blonde hair fanning out beneath her, woven with even more flowers, her rosy cheeks, painted with blush, giving her a soft glow, even in death.

“He’s an artist, or someone who appreciates art, at least.” Will said, and before Barba’s lip could curl, he continued on. “Look at these women, really look. What do you see?” Barba stared at the women for a moment, and then looked back over at Will.

“Persephone.” Will explained. “He’s mixing his reference material, but it’s all there.” He moved in front of the board, jabbing a finger at certain elements of the photographs as he went on. “Rembrandt,” at one woman’s flower-crown. “Peter Paul Rubens,” at another’s braided hair, and the red sheet tangled around her legs. “Christoph Schwarz,” at yet another’s splayed arms, and then finally: “Luca Giordano”, at the picture he’d pinned up only moments earlier. 

“All of these women are Persephone to him, depicted as she has been so many times, in the pose of _The Rape of Persephone_. He immortalizes these women, makes them pieces of art, captures them in a single image. The rape is secondary to all of that — he’s closer in terms of psychology to an Angel of Death than to a rapist, and he’s not going to be caught like a rapist.” 

When Will looked back over at Barba finally, the other man was standing with his arms across his chest, an expression of surprised interest on his face.

“When you use any of that to bring us an _actual_ suspect I’ll be impressed.” He said, and then he was off. Will stood for a moment before he turned his attention back to the photographs taped to the board, his thoughts slowing until he was able to fade out of the present and back into his mind-palace.

·

The next few weeks were a flurry of activity for SVU. Chasing after Will’s ‘Angel of Death’ theory, they interviewed a number of doctors who had been treating one of the girls, but were unable to find any leads or any link to the other three girls. Benson tried to be patient with Will, but as the days ticked by and it became more and more likely that they weren’t going to catch this man before he found himself another victim, she found herself getting tense.

Will was still working to draw a profile together, and spent most of his time wandering in between crime scenes and the family’s homes. Frederick, on the other hand, found himself wandering around the city. Though he stopped in by SVU, every time he was there Will was out and everyone was busy with the other crimes and victims they still had to take care of. Sonny was the only one who ever seemed at all excited to see him, though Rollins had slowly begun to warm to him as well. 

In any case, not knowing the city quite as well as he’d thought he had, Frederick found that having Sonny around was actually fairly helpful, and he wasn’t actually _awful_ company. He was eager to learn, at the very least, and often let Frederick ramble on about this or that obscure bit of psychiatric information. 

Sonny started coming to him with case studies he’d researched, and bits of pop-psychology he’d heard from someone somewhere. Without even having realized it had happened, Frederick was talking to and texting Sonny multiple times a day. 

He’d become so accustomed to it that when he received a call from Sonny at 9pm one evening he found himself giving up his table in the dining room of a lovely restaurant and moving to the bar, something that he wouldn’t have even considered a week or two ago.

“So, I saw this movie yesterday.” Sonny began, and Frederick resisted the urge to drop his head into his hands. No conversation that began like that was likely to go somewhere he’d enjoy. He briefly considered seeing if he could get his table back, but decided it was probably too late, and ordered a double scotch, neat, instead. 

“So you saw a movie.” Frederick repeated.

“Yeah, it was called _Limitless_ , with that guy from that film with Jennifer Lawrence, Bradley Whatever, and in it he gets this pill that lets him access his whole brain, so he can do all this cool shit, and my question is, — ” Frederick cut him off.

“That’s a lie, you know.” He said, and Sonny paused.

“What?” 

“That people only use part of their brain. We use our _entire brain_ , Carisi.” When he got nothing but silence from the other end of the line, he went on. “The 10% myth is an urban legend propagated by psychics and frauds looking to fool people into believing the ‘imagine what you could do with your entire brain’ hype.”

“So people use their entire brain? All the time?” 

“No, of course not. You, for one, seem to be _very_ adept at letting parts of it wither and atrophy.” Frederick replied. He heard a slightly insulted chuckle from the other end of the line. 

“Come on, Doc, you know what I mean.” Sonny said, and Frederick took a sip of his drink.

“Well, think of it this way: when you smile, your use muscles in your face.” He replied, decidedly not recalling the frequency with which Sonny smiled, or his dimples. “But that doesn’t mean that you don’t have muscles in your legs and arms and core that are capable of working, and no right-minded person would say that because you only use x-percent of your body’s muscles when smiling, you don’t use the others at all. It’s the same way with brain function. Different parts of your brain do different things, so even though not all of your brain may be working at any one time, that doesn’t mean that it’s ‘untapped’.”

Another pause.

“So I won’t be able to get superpowers if I used more of my brain.” Sonny stated. “I was lookin’ forwards to that.” Frederick grinned, taking another sip of his drink. “If you could have a superpower, what would you want?” 

He thought it over.

“Mind-reading. I think I’d do quite well as a Charles Xavier type.” Frederick said. “What about you?”

“Is it too boring if I say super-strength?” Sonny said.

“I’m going to have to say yes.” Frederick replied.

“Damn. Well, I’ll have to get back to you on that.” 

“I will hold you to that.” 

There was a small pause then, a sort of comfortable silence until they both realized that they were just on the phone, not saying anything. Sonny inhaled loudly, a sort of ‘ _well, this has stretched beyond the bounds of acceptable pauses_ ’ sound.

“Sorry to call you up about something so stupid.” He said.

“Isn’t that all you call me about?” Frederick replied, and though he’d aimed to tease, it came across more harshly than he’d intended.

“I’d better get back to work.” Sonny said after another pause.

“You called me to ask me about the legitimacy of the plot of _Limitless_ from work?” Frederick asked, somewhere between astounded and exasperated.

“Yeah.” Sonny said, as if there should be no question of that fact. 

“Get back to work, Carisi.”

“Doctor’s orders?” 

Frederick sighed.

“ _Carisi_.” 

“I’m goin’. Bye.” 

“ _Goodbye_ , Carisi.” 

Frederick tucked his phone away in his jacket and decided that he may as well order his food to the bar.

·

It took another week before Will finally caved and called Frederick for help. As much as he hated to admit it, he wasn’t used to doing this sort of thing all on his own. Certainly, the SVU team was wonderful, but he needed someone who was used to thinking in the same outside the box manner as he was. Really, what he wanted was Jack, but in lieu of him he’d take Frederick as a poor substitute. Frederick was, on the one hand, delighted to be finally able to help, but on the other hand, still wary about Will.

He’d never apologized, not in so many words, but the urge to do so was there. He wanted to explain it all, every action he felt Will had held against him since the first day they’d met. Frederick had always wanted to be respected, to be admired, but at the core of that was the desire to be liked, and he could tell quite easily that Will did _not_ like him.

So he’d prepared himself for just about anything as he entered the bullpen, though he realized he needn’t have almost as soon as he’d entered. Will was occupied with a file, but when Frederick approached he looked up at him. 

“I can’t find a link.” He said. “He acts like an Angel of Death, but only one of these women was sick.” Frederick pulled his glasses from his inner-pocket. 

“Which one?” He asked, and Will handed him over a file, which Frederick skimmed over. Laura Hastings, twenty-four, had been dying of chronic myeloid leukemia before she’d been killed. “She was being treated at New York Presbyterian — have you checked her doctors?”

“Of course. No one who worked there with her had any relation to any of the other girls, and the detectives weren’t able to get anything out of them in interviews.”

Frederick nodded, moving to sit down. 

“Do we have medical records for the other three?” In response, Will handed over three other folders, and then a box of photographs just as Frederick went on with: “And the crime scene photographs, if you don’t mind?” 

Frederick studied the photographs in comparison with the files, and he and Will sunk into a relative silence as the rest of SVU bustled on around them. At one point, Sonny stopped by their table to see how things were going, and when Frederick waved him off, returned with coffee, only to be waved off again. Will watched Sonny leave with a certain curiosity, then dismissed it as his mind returned to more important matters. 

Finally, after almost four hours of this, Frederick stood up from the table suddenly, one hand grasping a photograph in a vice-like grip. Will looked over at him in surprise. 

“Jennifer Cooney, the youngest, look at her school picture.” He said excitedly. Will glanced over, and for once found himself confounded at what he was looking for. 

For a moment Frederick considered gloating, rubbing it in Will’s face that he knew something the other didn’t, but the excitement trumped the mean-spirited competitiveness and he went on. “Look at how much slimmer she is in her school photo.” Will, again, felt as though he was missing something.

“Frederick, are you going to get to the point of this or just keep getting me to guess what you want?” He said, and Frederick let out a small huff of air before coming over to place two photographs in front of Will. 

“Her school picture was taken only a little over a month before this,” he said, pointing at the CSU picture. “and she’s gained at least twenty pounds in between these two pictures.” When Will remained silent, he went on. “That’s a large amount of weight to gain in such a short time. And then, you have these.” He reached across the table and pulled another photo from the pile, along with a magnifying glass. “It’d be easier to see in a digital blow-up, but even here you can see the marks on her fingers.” He pointed with a finger the almost imperceivable red marks on the knuckles of her left hand. Will sighed, and Frederick stood up and looked at him, a grin on his face. 

“She was bulimic.” He exclaimed, and Will for a moment felt as though he was taken aback, before he was looking critically at Frederick. 

“Eating disorders make you thinner, don’t they?” He asked, tentative about stepping out on this branch Frederick had suggested. Frederick shook his head, still grinning. “Not bulimia.” He replied. “Bulimia involves binge eating and then purging, which wreaks havoc on a person’s metabolism, and also — ” now pointing to the photograph and the magnifying glass. “ — their fingers. I’ll bet you any money that she bit her nails. Actually, I won’t even bother, since I already have proof.” 

He bent all the way over the table to rummage through her file until he pulled out the piece of paper he was looking for: her dental records. “She had braces to correct a gap between her top and bottom teeth, and almost no enamel.” As he took stock of Frederick’s expression, Will found himself following his train of thought.

“Parents who would spend the money for braces wouldn’t be likely to just leave their bulimic seventeen year old alone.” Will said, and Frederick shook his head. 

“No they would not.” He replied. “This girl,” he jabbed a finger at the CSU picture of her, wrapped in red cloth. “had a therapist.”

Frederick and Will exchanged a look in the moment of silence following this statement, before Frederick broke it by saying: ‘I’m going to tell Benson’. Will nodded, and moved to gather the photographs to tape them up to the board alongside the rest of those already on display. 

Given that they’d been at this for a little over a month now, and had yet to find any significant link, the majority of SVU had had to keep moving on. There were other cases, other victims, and while they had Will in town, they had someone to work this through constantly. As such, Benson was out of her office, and no one was exactly sure where she was. 

“I think Noah had a play-date,” Rollins, who had at some point simply become ‘Amanda’ to Frederick, said. “But I’m not sure who with. Is she not answering her phone?” 

“No, but I haven’t tried texting her yet.” Frederick replied, she let out a thoughtful ‘ _mm_ ’. “That’d be my next move.” She said, with a slight shrug, before returning to her desk. Frederick nodded and stepped out to text Benson.

Seven minutes after sending off his text, he got a response back. He was in a café a block down the street, and he mouthed a quick thank-you to the barista as he took the call and his coffee.

“Olivia!” He greeted cheerily. “I’ve got good news for you: the youngest girl had a therapist.”

“Sorry, give me a sec — ” She replied, and he heard her murmuring something before moving to a quieter space than she’d been in previously. “I’m going to need a few more details before I do anything else with that, Chilton.” 

As he walked back to the station he explained the signs of bulimia, and the braces, and the therapist hypothesis, and as he re-entered the building Rollins greeted him, mouthing ‘ _Liv?_ ’  at him. He nodded.

“Put her on speaker.” She said, and he did so. “Liv, he’s right — the girl, Jennifer, she was seeing a therapist. The father confirmed it.” 

“Did you get a name?” Benson asked.

“Dr. Marc Bertrand.” Rollins replied, looking down at the piece of paper she’d scrawled the name on moments earlier. “Jennifer’s father said he was an excellent therapist, that he was really working with her to held her sort out her problems.” 

Frederick let out a low scoffing sound. Benson was quiet on the other end of the line for a moment, then replied:

“See if he had any connection to the hospital that Laura Hastings was at.” 

“She was dying, she probably saw at least one counsellor or therapist.” Frederick added, and Rollins looked over at him. He moved around her and back over to Will, who was still taping images up and writing notes beside them. 

“Do we have the tox screen results for all of them?” He asked, and Will seemed to think it over for a moment before he nodded.

“They should just be in with the CSU report.” Will replied. “I thought it would be easier to group by girl.” Frederick nodded and rummaged through the files until he found the papers he wanted.  Returning to where Rollins was still talking with Benson, he held up the papers triumphantly. 

“All of the girls were given a high dose of lorazepam.” He said, pulling out the file for the second victim, an Abby Davies. “Roughly the same dose for each girl, except for Abby Davies, who had a good deal more in her system, and also had trace amounts of THC.” 

“The Medical Examiner ruled that the THC had no effect on her death.” Benson replied.

“It didn’t, but it would explain the higher dose of lorazepam — if she was smoking marijuana, she would’ve had a much higher tolerance to the effects of lorazepam, especially if this killer wanted to induce amnesia as well as unconsciousness.” He said.

“Abby was self-medicating.” Will stated, and Frederick nearly started as he realized that the other man had arrived right beside him without him even noticing. He nodded, though, and then replied for Benson’s benefit. 

“That’s my theory. This doctor was probably treating her for depression or anxiety.” Frederick said. Off to his side, he could see Will thinking something over, his gaze turned inwards. Benson let out a long sigh.

“Well, let’s see what we can find out about this doctor. I’ve got to get back to Noah, but I’ll be in in a few hours. Call Fin and Carisi, get them back as soon as you can.” She said. 

“Will do.” Rollins replied.

·

“Dr. Marc Bertrand?”

“Yes?” The doctor said, turning to face Sonny.

“Do you think we could step inside your office and talk for a minute?” Sonny asked, moving his jacket aside to flash his shield. Will, who was standing to his side, looked up at the building in front of them. Bertrand looked between the two of them, then sighed and nodded, taking the last two steps up to his office door and unlocking it. 

“What is this about?” He asked, once they were inside. Sonny reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a photograph.

“Do you know this girl?” Sonny asked, and the doctor moved to his desk to collect his reading glasses before he took the photograph and looked it over.

“Yes.” He replied carefully, then, seeing Sonny’s expression, went on. “She’s a patient of mine. Has something happened to her?” 

“She’s dead.” Sonny said, watching to see how the doctor reacted. Will, on the other hand, had wandered over towards a bookshelf. Bertrand’s gaze, which had followed Will nervously, snapped back to Sonny.

“Oh, my god.” He said, moving to sit down in the chair in front of his desk. For a moment he sat there silently, before he looked back up at Sonny. “What happened to her?” Sonny tucked her photograph back into his jacket, still staring the doctor down. 

“She was killed.” Sonny replied. “We’re lookin’ to find out how that happened.” The doctor’s eyebrows drew together, and his mouth opened as if to argue, but Sonny cut him off. “Did she ever tell you about any enemies, anyone in her life who might want to hurt her?” 

Bertrand’s expression softened as he seemed to think over the question.

“She had an on-again off-again boyfriend. He was in college, I believe. She never told me the school, or his name.” Bertrand held his hands out, palms up, in a shrug. “I don’t know, I’m sorry, that’s all I can —— that’s actually an antique, could you put it down?” 

Sonny looked over to see Will holding a book up, examining a page. Will closed the book and looked back up and over at Sonny.

“ _The Iliad_.” Will said, wiggling the volume in his hand. Sonny looked back at Bertrand, whose eyes narrowed.

“I collect rare books. Now, that’s from the 1700s, could you please put it back?” He said, waving a hand at Will. Will placed the volume back on the shelf, and moved back into the hallway. 

“You like Greek legends?” Sonny asked. The doctor sighed.

“They’re _intriguing_.” He said, then stood. “If you don’t have a warrant, I suggest you leave immediately.” Sonny nodded, holding up his hands.

“Right, well, we’ll get out of your hair then, doctor.” Sonny said, walking back to the hallway. Will was returning from slightly down to one end, and followed Sonny out. 

“He has a framed print of the Rembrandt.” Will said as they walked down the steps. Sonny shook his head, then looked at Will. 

“You got to him all thanks to a _painter_?” He asked. 

“He has an obsession. To him, each girl is a piece of art.” Will replied. “He’s bound to keep some trophy from them, probably photographs of his displays.” Sonny stuffed his hands in his trouser pockets.

“Yeah, well good luck gettin’ a warrant off of the back of a book and a painting.” Sonny said.

·

“A book, and a painting.” Barba repeated, looking between Will and Sonny. Sonny slipped his hands into the pockets of his trousers, and Will scratched at the scruff on his cheek.

“He’s the one we should be looking at.” Will said. “I’m sure of it.” Barba’s eyebrows lowered.

“And you were able to tell this from a _book_ , and a _painting_.” He said, then looked up in surprise when Frederick entered the station, a cup of coffee in one hand and his phone in the other. For a moment they simply looked at each other, and then Frederick’s look of recognition slid right into a smirk as he approached them.

“A man’s art collection does not a killer make.” He said, shooting a look at Sonny. “I thought you said you weren’t going to call Barba until you had something more.” Barba looked over at Sonny in surprise, who shrugged.

“Will wanted to see if he could convince him.” Sonny replied, and Will clenched his jaw. Frederick simply took a sip of his coffee, hiding his smug grin behind the blue wax-paper cup. 

“Bad choice.” Frederick said, once he’d been able to school his expression a bit. Will glared at him.

“If we don’t take him in he’s _going_ to go after a new girl — he knows we’re on to him, and that’s only going to cause him to escalate.” Will said, and Frederick sighed.

“Have we even found definitive proof that he had a connection to any of the girls besides Jennifer?” He asked. When Will didn’t reply, Frederick gestured with the hand holding his phone towards Barba. “Well then, you know why Mr. Barba can’t help you.”

Barba had opened his mouth to reply when Rollins piped up:

“Maybe he can.” 

All eyes turned to her, setting down the phone at her desk. 

“That was New York Presbyterian, they finally got back to me; Marc Bertrand was seeing a few patients there, _including_ Laura Hastings.” She said. Will and Sonny exchanged a glance, followed by Will turning his attention back to Barba. 

“I’ll see what I can do.” Barba said. “Bring him in, but don’t touch a _thing_ until I let you know.” Frederick followed him out. 

“Doctor Chilton, what can I do for you?” Barba asked as they walked. 

“This man is likely to have taken photographs of the girls, after they were killed.” Frederick replied. “Anything of that matter, photographs, camera equipment, his computer — it should all be considered in the warrant.” 

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Barba said, coming to stop at the edge of the sidewalk. He pulled out his Blackberry and punched in the number to call for a car, and once he’d done so, looked back over at Frederick. For a moment or two Barba stood, just looking him over.

“Do you think we look alike?” Barba finally asked, and Frederick laughed, now realizing the reason for the staring contest.

“Has Carisi always been this focused?” He asked.

“On occasion.” Barba said, then gave Frederick another look over. “I _suppose_ we’re about the same height.” He said finally, and Frederick tilted his head slightly as he considered it.

“Roughly.” He said, and then extended his hand. Barba shook it. “Good to finally meet you, Mr. Barba.” 

“And you, doctor.” Barba replied. Once they let go Frederick strode off back towards the station, and Barba found himself wondering if that was what his hair looked like from the back. 

 

The station was practically empty, and Frederick set about re-organizing the girls’ files. He’d finished and was staring down the coffee machine, considered whether or not he wanted to bother going out somewhere to grab a fresh cup when Sonny and Fin returned, with Dr. Bertrand in hand. Frederick decided that the coffee in the pot would have to do, at least, for the time being.

While Rollins and Fin took over the interrogation, Sonny came to greet Frederick at the coffee pot. They stood for a moment in the relative silence of the station, until Frederick sighed and poured Sonny a cup of coffee.

“You were going to wait to call Barba.” Frederick said. Though it hadn’t been phrased as a question, Sonny answered it as such anyways.

“Yeah, of course. I knew we didn’t have enough for a warrant, and he’s got better things to do than have pointless conversations.” Sonny replied. Frederick considered this, taking a sip of his coffee, before he looked around the station. 

“I’m going to head back to my hotel, but feel free to call me if there's anying you need me for.” Frederick said, and Sonny nodded, almost too quickly. 

“Sure thing, doc.” He replied. Frederick downed the rest of the coffee in his cup — it was truly awful stuff — and dropped the styrofoam cup into the garbage. Sonny watched as he moved around the station collecting his coat, then his cane, and finally his scarf. He looked about ready to head out to hail a cab when he turned back towards Sonny, as is he was going to say something. 

Frederick paused, not sure what exactly he’d been about to tell Sonny. Finally he just gave a quick, tight lipped smile and a half-wave, and then he was out the door. Sonny finished off the rest of his coffee and went to see if he could be of any use.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The paintings referenced in this chapter are [this](https://pantherfile.uwm.edu/prec/www/course/mythology/0700/807b.jpg) Rembrandt, [this](http://media1.shmoop.com/images/mythology/hades-persephone-rubens.jpeg) Peter Paul Rubens, [this](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/ac/5e/40/ac5e403e7698f726009e9e9780942b39.jpg) Christoph Schwarz, and [this](https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/e/e8/Luca_Giordano_016.jpg) Luca Giordano.
> 
> Also, I'm not a lawyer, a doctor, or an art historian, so there may be some mistakes in this fic.


End file.
